Snagged
by Lala Kate
Summary: AU S1x5: Bets, secrets, misperceptions and stolen kisses...and a planned confrontation that goes helplessly astray! Part 3 of the "Cornered, Caught, Snagged!" trilogy.


_Well...I must say that I never anticipated the response I would receive to these little drabbles. The fact that so many of you have taken these to your heart just makes my day! Writing them has been an absolute delight, surpassed only by the reviews and messages on this site and tumblr several of you have sent my way. Who knows? Perhaps there will be more installments in the "Cornered, Caught, Snagged!" universe. :)_

_Special thanks to **patsan** for the inspiration for these stories, your critiques and comments, and especially your sweet friendship and support! Also thanks to **La Donna Ingenua** for lending her eagle-editing eyes to this. Thank you so much for sharpening me as a writer and listening to me ramble-you know I adore you, girl! _

_Ready...set...go!_

* * *

Mary awoke with a bit of a headache, making the onset of a new day all the more difficult. She never arose in a chipper mood, but rousing herself from bed this morning had been more trying than usual with an incessant pounding echoing behind her eyes. She had refused to allow Anna to open her drapes, the thoughts of sunlight streaming cheerfully through her window just too much to bear. How ironic, she mused, that the very excuse she had shamelessly used last night in order to make her escape attacked her in earnest as soon as she dared open her eyes. Tea helped a bit, although she did not have the stomach to entertain a piece of toast. Of course, the lack of food had nothing to do with the malady that plagued her.

No. The primary culprit was most likely already hard at work in his office, looking over whatever sort of documents solicitors examine with those eyes of his…

Those blue eyes…

She had to cease torturing herself in this manner.

But those moments in the library continually played back in her memory, caught in some sort of vicious loop that had blocked her from sleep for hours upon end. The texture of his fingers lingering upon her cheek…his scent, so clean and utterly masculine…the pressure of his lips brushing against hers…

This was ridiculous!

She had neither the time nor the inclination to dwell upon a hopeless situation. Becoming sentimental over Matthew was pointless, no matter how deliciously his kisses made her quake in her shoes. Even if he did like her—flirt with her—_kiss_ her—everything would just unravel when certain events came to light. Why get her hopes up when they would only come crashing down around her?

Living in a house of cards was rather exhausting.

Head-ache or not, a ride was exactly what she needed in order to restore clarity to the muddled state of her mind.

She made her way down the stairs, acknowledging no one as she traversed a path to the front door. Yes, fresh air taken in solitude was precisely the antidote she needed. She would be able to examine the situation pragmatically and formulate a plan of action once she settled these unfortunate emotions of hers.

And then there was Edith…

The chill that lingered in the air was actually quite welcome to her, stinging her cheeks in manner that sharpened her resolve instantly. She was, after all, Lady Mary Crawley. She refused to allow emotions rule her reason, and she would find a way to deal with her own unfortunate situation, her irritating sister...

And Matthew Crawley, himself.

Matthew drank rather than sipped his coffee, the details of his plan continually playing in his mind as he thought it through step by step. He would journey to Downton first thing this morning to inquire after Mary's health, using the ruse that his mother had been terribly concerned about her after she had retired early. He would coerce her out for a walk somehow, lead her to a place where they could speak privately…

And finagle the truth out of her once and for all.

He was an attorney, for God's sake. Pinpointing the facts of any given situation was his job, his livelihood. Mary might think herself above his questioning techniques, but he did have a few tricks up his sleeve of which she was ignorant.

Matthew hummed as he hopped upon his bicycle, a smile spreading across his face in spite of himself. The brisk morning air invigorated him, filling his lungs with determination and his legs with renewed vigor. The remnants of heavy fog left tendrils hanging from trees that reached out, patting him on the back in support of his mission. He could not help but laugh a bit, his assuredness of victory growing by the second.

Oh, yes. After this morning, Lady Mary Crawley would not know what had hit her.

He arrived at Downton well before anyone would expect him, hopping off his bicycle as he walked it towards the great house. He then questioned himself for the first time, wondering if perhaps he had arrived too early. Was it possible that Mary was still in bed? He realized he knew nothing of her sleeping and waking rituals—why would he?—yet she did not seem like a woman who would rise to greet the morning with a song. Would he have to wait a bit in order to see her? That would surely never do—it would be too obvious, too telling, too…

He ducked behind a tree, feeling a bit like a prowler as the front door opened unexpectedly. He held his breath unconsciously, fully aware that he was much too far from the entrance to be heard unless he yelled like a madman. He shot a glance towards his bike, praying that its current position lying on the ground would keep it concealed from view. His attention then returned to the door, wondering frantically just who was coming out and in what direction they would go.

Much to his delight and surprise, Lady Mary emerged from the house alone.

Yes, indeed. The fates were obviously in his favor.

Heaving an audible sigh of relief, Matthew shadowed her shamelessly, following her progress stealthily as she made her way towards the stables. She was obviously dressed for a ride, bedecked in her riding habit with hat in hand. When she entered the paddocks, he held back a moment, scoping out the place to see if any grooms emerged.

It was essential that they be alone.

When no further action ensued, he drew a breath determinedly, reviewing his assault plan silently to himself as he moved forward with a purpose. He tiptoed to the doors, rounding a corner into the building as he looked around in haste. She was there, her back to him as she stood near the back wall, silently petting Diamond's nose with obvious affection.

Oh, dear. He had not counted on reacting to the mere sight of her in so forceful a manner. His throat constricted somewhat as he observed the leisured path of her fingers, stroking the blasted horse ever so gently upon his nose. He could not help but remember just how those same digits felt tangled in his own hair, clasping tightly onto his shoulder as he had drawn her close, stroking a path down his neck as he teased her lower lip…

Enough! How could he think clearly if other parts of his anatomy threatened to bypass his reason? He shook himself slightly, focusing squarely upon the task at hand as he reminded himself of just how casually she had used him last night for her own purposes.

There. That was better.

He walked steadily towards her, wanting to catch her firmly by surprise. He anticipated how she would stutter, how his arguments would rock her so soundly that she would have choice but to confess her complicity and reveal her true feelings. A floorboard creaked beneath him, turning her head sharply in his direction.

But it was he who stood speechless.

Mary hastily wiped the stray tears from her eyes, angry that she had been caught in such a state by the one person whose presence rattled her more than she could handle at the moment. But she had to pull herself together—there was simply no other choice.

"Mary, are you all right?" Matthew asked, true concern taking over his need for absolution. "Can I do anything?"

"What are you doing here, Matthew?" she cut in quickly, reasserting her strength as firmly as possible.

He was taken aback by her direct question, his mind backpedalling in haste as it dawned on him that she had every right to be surprised by his presence.

"I came looking for you," he answered honestly, noting the expression of disbelief on her face as he added, "My mother was quite worried about you last night."

"Oh, that," Mary sighed, turning her attention back to the horse in a gesture of dismissal. "Please tell her that I am quite well this morning, and although I appreciate her concern, it is quite unnecessary."

Her complete detachment from him ignited his flailing resolve, pushing his feet towards her as she turned back to him in frustration.

"Is there anything else?" she demanded, squaring her shoulders in a deliberate move to calm her unsteadiness. "I was just about to go for a ride."

He ran his hand through his hair, dismissing his well-formulated strategy as indignation took center stage.

"Is there something else?" he mimicked, drawing her brows closer together. "How can you ask me that after everything that happened last night?"

She sighed in exasperation, not yet ready to deal with him in the manner in which she chose. She needed to be fully composed when she faced him, to have her speech thoroughly rehearsed and her spine immovable. This was too soon, he was too close…

Too tempting.

"To what exactly are you referring?" she questioned evenly, attempting to control the slight quaking in her stomach as she sought for time to think.

"To what…how can you ask me that?" he stammered, stepping close enough to see the dark circles under her eyes. So she had not slept well either, it would seem.

Good.

"You know exactly to what I am referring, Mary Crawley," Matthew stated through clenched teeth, eyeing her directly. "Don't play with me. I don't deserve it."

He dared a step closer, noting the increased pace of her breathing as she stepped back unconsciously. Her eyes rounded at this show of bravado, her back coming to rest against the wall as he cornered her yet again.

"Not from you."

"What makes you think I would play with you, Matthew?" she questioned pointedly, still attempting to wrap her mind about this unexpected confrontation.

He tossed his head back as a laugh without joviality sputtered forth. He shook his head incredulously, leaning in close enough to clearly see the faint freckles dotted upon her cheekbones that he had kissed tenderly just last night.

Oh—this woman was driving him mad!

"I know, Mary," he finally stated firmly, noting the genuine look of terror that splashed across her features. "I overheard you and Edith talking last night."

To say she looked shocked would have been an understatement. Any hint of color remaining on her cheeks washed from her complexion completely, pooling in a puddle at her feet as her mouth hung agape.

"What do you know?" she whispered, her heart racing at an ungodly pace at the mere idea that Matthew knew anything about Kemal Pamuk. Dear God, would he tell his mother? Make her story public? Was her shame now to be the talk of Downton, the glances she received from villagers ones of disdain and scorn?

No wonder he was looking at her with such fury in his eyes.

"I know everything, Mary," he returned flatly, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sought to reign in his anger. "Every dirty little secret."

She was caught.

Mary closed her eyes, unable to meet his as she fervently wished she could meld into the woodwork. She swallowed forcefully, clenching and unclenching her hands repeatedly to garner a small measure of courage.

"What you must think of me," she breathed, a stubborn tear breaking free of its confines as she hastily wiped it away from her cheek.

"I'm not sure exactly what to think," he rebutted, this show of vulnerability letting some of the wind out of his sails. "What were _you_ thinking Mary? After we…I thought…how could you?"

She was mortified. Matthew Crawley's opinion of her mattered vastly more than she had realized until this moment, the hurt and repugnance in his gaze more painful than she could have ever anticipated.

"I'm not sure I can honestly give you a reason," she admitted weakly, biting her lower lip without thinking. "I certainly never planned for this to happen. I hope you can believe that, at least."

Matthew could only stare at her, the enigma that was Mary Crawley doing nothing but morphing into an even greater mystery before his very eyes.

"Was it a need for excitement?" he inquired, reaching for straws to clarify this mess. "I dare not hope it had anything to do with love."

A jolt of confusion shot through her at these words, her mind spurring to make sense of things yet again. He would prefer that something like that would occur _outside _of love? This did not fit the Matthew Crawley she thought she knew at all.

"Do you think me incapable of the emotion?" she queried, finally feeling courageous enough to look him in the eye. "Incapable of love?"

"Of course not," he sputtered, drawing back in an attempt to clear his head. "But if you can behave in such a manner and treat it all like a joke…"

"A joke?" she shot back incredulously. "It may have been many things, but I can assure you I once never thought of it so callously!"

"Didn't you?" he returned, returning to his spot in closer proximity. "How else do you explain your behavior?"

"And just why do you believe that you deserve an explanation?" she shot back, suddenly tired of being on the defensive end of this inquiry.

"Because we kissed, Mary!" he yelled, throwing his arms up over his head in exasperation. "Or don't you remember?"

Her face heated instantly, her righteous indignation deflated as she replied, "Of course, I remember."

"Finally—a straight answer," Matthew crooned, his exaggerated movements forcing Mary to roll her eyes. "While you are so inclined to be honest, let me ask you another. When you laughed with me, or flirted with me, was that a duty? Were you conforming to the fitness of things? Doing what's expected?"

Where was he going with this? Mary could not see her way through this maze of conversation any more, feeling as though she were conversing in French and Matthew in Portuguese.

"Or was it all for the sake of a bet?"

The bet!

Her mind grasped the word like a lifeline, clinging to them in premature relief as she dared to hope what this meant.

"A bet?" she hinted, taking in his previous words with a new translation. "You mean my bet with Edith?"

"Of course I mean your bet with Edith!" Matthew cried. "What other bet would I be speaking of, unless you have made other wagers concerning me of which I know nothing."

She knew he was irate with her, and rightfully so, but Mary could feel nothing but heady elation that he was angry with her over the idiotic bet…

Not her indiscretion with Pamuk.

Thank God!

"The thing is, for a moment I thought…" he slipped, dropping his head in embarrassment of this display of feeling. God, he was a fool!

"You thought what?" she probed, leaning towards him slightly as she attempted to read his features.

"Never mind what I thought," he shrugged, his shoulders dropping perceptibly. "I must have been wrong."

Her heart began to flutter again, her resolve to send him away melting at the vulnerability in his eyes. Suddenly, all she could think about was the way that he had kissed her, the joy and safety she had felt in his arms. The memories washed over her as a tonic, prompting her to soothe his pain.

"You should have more faith," she breathed, unsure of what to expect when his head shot up.

"I assume you speak in the spirit of mockery," he threw back, unwilling to be played again so quickly.

"Am I to assume that's something no one could ever accuse you of?" she retorted, watching as his brows drew together in disbelief.

"No," he replied firmly, shaking his head for effect. "I could not be accused of such a thing. Let me assure you that I was sincere in all of our dealings last night. Can you say the same thing?"

She sighed, her head falling in admission before a word left her mouth.

"No," Mary confessed, her honesty taking him slightly aback. "But it was not all a game, either."

"To make something like that work, you have to be a good liar," he spat, regretting the accusation bitterly even as he pushed his inquiry further. "Are you a good liar?"

"Well, not good enough, apparently," she returned, looking to him in a manner that made him want to shake the truth out of her.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, beginning to pace in frustration. "You either felt something for me when we kissed, or you lied about everything. Which is it, Mary?"

"Oh, Matthew," she sighed, tossing her hands up in exasperation. "You always make everything so black and white."

"I think this is black and white," he clarified, moving towards her at such a pace that her back was pressed firmly against the wall again. "Did our kisses mean anything at all to you? If not, then say no. If they did, then say yes."

He had her. She was caught between the wall and Matthew Crawley, completely cornered with no way out but the truth.

"Matthew, I…" she began attempting to move towards him as she was jerked back soundly.

"For God's sake, Mary, would you just answer the question?" he demanded, tossing his eyes in the air at her apparent lack of concern for his turmoil. "Can't you at least give me that?"

"It's not that Matthew," she tried, pulling futilely against her jacket. "It's…"

"Let me get this clear!" he bellowed, having finally reached his limit. "I am not leaving these stables until you give me answer, and neither are you!"

"Oh would you just listen to me, you insufferable man!" Mary cried, the astonishment on his face quite defined. "I'm snagged to the wall somehow. I can't move!"

This inexplicably struck him as funny, laughter welling up and pouring over until tears threated to spill. His stomach began to ache with merriment, the fire in her eyes aimed directly at him only making him laugh all the harder.

"I can't see why you find this so funny," she shot back, twisting her hands behind her back in a useless attempt to free herself. "I'm not amused in the slightest."

"That's because you can't see yourself," he chuckled, trying to reign in his laughter as he breathed as deeply as he could.

"And just what do I look like, pray?" she demanded, unwilling to give up struggle as she tried to maneuver her body out of captivity.

"Like a cornered kitten," he uttered, the words barely escaping him before he doubled over in merriment again.

Then it hit her.

A burst of unexpected laughter escaped, releasing an avalanche of giggles that spewed out of her like uncorked champagne. All of the tension she had been carrying inside for the past several hours broke free, bursting through her tightened confines until her sides hurt.

"Oh God, Mary," Matthew tried, attempting with all his might to quell the chuckles that would not cease as he moved in her direction. "Let me help you."

He drew quite near, working his arms around her to her back as he attempted through peals of laughter to ascertain the exact problem.

"You're snagged, alright," he concluded, finally restoring a modicum of control to his demeanor. "A nasty nail of some sort has worked its way right through your jacket."

He raised up until he was staring at her nose to nose, the nearness of her quickly unleashing another set of emotions. "You may need to remove it in order for me to get you off the hook."

Nervous embarrassment quickly replaced hilarity as the notion of undressing even a little in front of him hit her. But there was nothing to be done about it if it was truly her only way out of this mess.

"Alright," she managed, pulling one arm free from a sleeve before escaping the confines of the garment all together. She avoided his eyes just as stubbornly as he avoided hers, looking to the floor, the horses, anywhere but at Matthew. Why she felt suddenly exposed when she was still completely covered made no logical sense whatsoever.

"Yes—it's hung just there," he noted, peering behind her in a manner that made her excessively self-conscious.

The hook had caught her clothing right at the base of her spine, much too close to her derriere for Matthew's comfort. He swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat, returning to an upright position before breaking the news.

"Mary, I hate to tell you this, but it has snagged your blouse, as well."

The implications of his statement sunk in slowly, the reddening of his ears betraying his own embarrassment at the situation.

"Matthew—I cannot remove my blouse in front of you!" she exclaimed, cheeks flaming at the situation as her eyes widened visibly.

"I'm well aware of that," Matthew returned quickly, "But perhaps if you just untuck it from your skirt, I might be able to work the hook from the material without creating a tear."

Untuck her blouse…in front of Matthew…this could not be happening.

But it was.

She somehow maneuvered the silky material with hands that trembled without her permission. She licked her lips, pressing them together tightly as if the action could somehow ward off the embarrassment prickling against every pore.

"There," she managed, having to force the word through the tightness of her larynx. How would she ever be able to look him in the eye again?

Matthew focused every thought on keeping his hands steady and his gaze upon the task at hand, a feat proving to be more difficult than convincing Carson to dance a jig. His fingers worked their way under her blouse, beads of sweat forming just above his upper lip as his knuckles brushed the surface of her corset. How thankful he was for that particular undergarment at the moment. If his hand had made contact with bare flesh…

His slacks felt inexplicably tighter.

"Have you got it?" Mary asked impatiently, the movement of his fingers tightening muscles in her lower back and other unmentionable areas at an alarming rate.

"Nearly," he answered in haste, knowing that if she didn't affect him in such a manner that the deed would have been done by now. He finally managed to work the material free, a small gash in the fabric presenting clear evidence of her entrapment.

Mary exhaled at the new sense of liberation, shifting her stance slightly as she took a deep breath. But Matthew's hand had not moved, glued to her back of its own accord as if her were powerless to move it.

"You're free," he smiled disarmingly, staring at her lips as her eyes just seemed too personal under the circumstances.

Their foreheads were nearly touching, the sensation of her breath rubbing against his neck narrowing his world to this space…this moment…

This woman.

"Am I?" Mary whispered, the unexpected nature of her comment making his eyes fly back to hers. His nearness was overwhelming, the powerful pull he exerted upon her too much for her to even attempt to resist.

"God, Mary," he breathed, unsure if the words had actually left the confines of his mouth before it dove onto hers.

Lips renewed their recent acquaintance with fervor, resuming their dance from the previous night without missing a step. A more frenzied tempo drove them, however, his hand still in hiding beneath her blouse snaking up her back and pulling her to him insistently. When his fingers touched bare skin at the upper edge of her corset, her head flew back, eyes staring at him in a blackened smolder that heated his resolve even more.

"Well," she managed between gasping breaths, the goosebumps dotting her flesh nearly unravelling him. "Does that answer your question?"

God—she had snagged him securely in the midst of his own game. He had walked right into her snare, had freely bound himself to her without even a whimper of protest. But as dark eyes locked onto his, he knew that this was precisely the outcome he had really wanted.

"Perhaps," he mused, giving her a maddening half grin as blue eyes sparkled in her direction. "Convince me again."

Slender fingers clasped both sides of his face, bringing his mouth back to hers as she demanded a taste of him. Why had she ever considered fighting this? It was glorious, perfectly wonderful, the most decidedly _right_ thing in her muddled mess of a life. The savory essence of him teased her palate, making her knees wobble as he nibbled her lower lip greedily. This was what she had been craving, what had denied her sleep and heightened her torment.

His free hand worked its way into her hair as his tongue twirled seductively around her own. Matthew was lost, completely absorbed by this woman who could vex him so completely. The stables could have caught fire, and he was not at all certain he would notice. How could anything, any_one_ compete with Mary? Kissing her was utter decadence, the rich sweetness of her mouth only whetting his appetite even further. Burning lips were now jealous of his fingers, pushing him to allow them a sample of her skin to satiate their demands. They moved purposefully towards her neck, the contact shoving her back into the wall as she cried out softly. She shuddered as he pressed even closer, the movement of her body against his making him sweat in earnest.

This was getting completely out of hand all too quickly.

He forced himself to draw back, the heat from his skin causing a ripple effect in her own body as she mourned the loss of direct contact. His one hand remained connected to her bodice, sliding down the back seam until it rested at the crux of her lower back. Heavy breathing communicated for them, hands continuing to stroke small pathways punctuating unvoiced thoughts.

"Can you forgive me?" she finally spoke, the words spoken with such softness he nearly missed them.

There it was—the utter vulnerability she so often masked laid bare before him in a demonstration of trust.

"Yes," he murmured, his reply resonating into her cheek as it released a genuine smile. She relaxed into him, resting her hands on his shoulders as she reveled in his nearness.

"Will you have a picnic with me tomorrow?" he questioned, the hint of uncertainty in those eyes of crystal melting her on the spot.

"Yes," she hummed, a small laugh stroking her insides as his face beamed in delight. A touch of reality began to invade her rather fogged senses, the knowledge that if anyone were to walk in on them, they would be compromised indeed.

"I had better go in and change," she reasoned, looking towards her forgotten jacket that now lay in a rumpled heap near her feet.

"Of course," Matthew replied, startled back to his senses as he stooped to retrieve it for her. He wrapped it around her shoulders carefully, unwilling to release his hold on her even though he knew he must. "I hope your jacket can be repaired."

"It doesn't matter," she returned logically, "I have another." He smiled at her response, wondering why he hadn't realized that she would have more than one riding habit at her disposal. "It's my hair that worries me," she continued, the timbre of her voice deepening as she gazed at him meaningfully.

"You've made me untidy."

His grin only broadened, watching her in marked appreciation as she finally took her leave of him and began to make her way back to the big house. She tossed him a loaded look over her shoulder, one hand attempting unsuccessfully to straighten unruly hairs that were enjoying their newly found freedom.

She was utterly magnificent.

Mary Crawley was his undoing, the nail on which he would happily remain snagged for the rest of his life. He realized this now, wrapping this revelation around his insides, rather pleased at the manner in which it fit. And as he watched her figure move further into the distance, he grinned slyly and had the last word.

"Good."`

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_I do hope you enjoyed it! Thoughts, anyone?_


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